


neurotypes

by catbeans



Series: autistic luke Stuff [1]
Category: Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: M/M, autistic luke skywalker
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-23
Updated: 2017-10-23
Packaged: 2019-01-22 02:46:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12471732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catbeans/pseuds/catbeans
Summary: It had to be the Force, he reasoned, all those things Beru had explained as childhood quirks until he was too old for that to apply anymore; that had to be why everything always felt so much, too sharp and too loud and too bright.He wasn't sure what else it could be.He didn't know it could be anything else until years later, Tatooine far behind him and childhood quirks the last thing on his mind.





	neurotypes

Luke had always assumed it was normal; he'd never been given much reason not to.

Beru gave up trying to get him to stop wearing his clothes inside out when he was four. Kids can be funny like that, she justified to Owen, the only real problem was how much time they wasted arguing with him about it.

Some kids just start talking late; he could express himself fine if they paid attention. Kids can be funny like that.

Sometimes they just eat the same foods over and over--that was the opposite of a problem, with the limited options on Tatooine--and sometimes they stare but look away when you look straight at them, and sometimes they go silent for hours, or do strange things with their hands, or hum a monotone, incessant hum without noticing. Sometimes they sound like an instruction manual talking about ships and how droids work.

Kids can be funny like that.

Beru said it a lot; it sounded more strained the older he got, when funny seemed more like odd, and wearing clothes inside out got more weird looks than comments about how funny kids could be.

He learned how to sew flat hems when he was ten.

The mechanical knowledge he'd built up over the years was enough to smooth some things over, as long as he tried to remember to stop talking when the other person started to seem bored--like looking around a lot, Beru told him, or checking the time, or fidgeting. Luke did all of those things when he _was_ listening, he tried to point out, but that was him, she explained, and sometimes that wasn't like everyone else he knew.

He had to look up the word _prodigy_ after he overheard Owen say it one night when he was supposed to be asleep, one of those rare, treasured times when Owen really seemed pleased with him, bragging to Beru about how well he'd repaired a busted humidity collector and how much money he'd saved them on a new one.

He didn't feel _endowed with special abilities,_ like the holopad had said; he just really liked machines.

Owen was decidedly less pleased with him when he came back from unfinished chores with an injured sandskitter wrapped in his shirt, his shoulders red and burnt from the walk back home without any protection from the suns. He couldn't just _leave it_ there, he insisted, his voice thick with tears to the point of being hard to understand when Owen told him to kill it.

Beru had stepped in, and it lasted another year, in a crate in the corner of his room with that dusty shirt for a blanket.

Luke didn't get out of bed for two days after it died.

He heard Owen and Beru arguing on the other side of his door, Owen’s repeated insistence that it had been a pest anyway, he had to cull them from the farm when they got to the electrical wires, Luke had to learn how these things worked, but Beru said something he couldn't make out, whispered and fierce, and Owen dropped it.

It had taken years to get even bits and pieces about his father, about the Force; he’d scuttled up to the roof late at night, his knees pulled tight to his chest while he watched the stars creep along their slow trails through the sky. He could _think_ at night, breathing easy without the suffocating heat and the too-bright light of the suns overhead taking all of his focus.

It had to be the Force, he reasoned, all those things Beru had explained as childhood quirks until he was too old for that to apply anymore; that had to be why everything always felt so _much,_ too sharp and too loud and too bright.

He wasn't sure what else it could be.

He didn't know it _could_ be anything else until years later, Tatooine far behind him and childhood quirks the last thing on his mind.

 

He could tell he was talking too much, too excited about different thrust reactors to realize until he saw Han looking at the dashboard, swaying the pilot’s chair from side to side.

He trailed off with a mumbled apology and looked away.

“What?”

Luke looked up at Han with a shrug.

“Kinda lost that sentence there.”

Luke shrugged again and looked at the dashboard, fiddling with the hem of his sleeve. “I'm talking your ear off, it doesn't really matter.”

Han frowned, leaning his elbows on the armrest and his chin on his hands. “Keep talking.”

“You looked bored--”

“I didn't mean to be,” Han said, and he was still looking at Luke just as intently when Luke looked back up at him.

Luke nodded to himself and took a deep breath, fumbling to get back on track; he wasn't used to anyone telling him to keep talking when he stopped.

“So there's, y’know, the T-94, but if you put the reactor from most freighters built before the last few years into a big enough speeder…”

 

It was a few days later when Leia offhandedly mentioned hating sand.

“I don't know how you did it,” she said. “I refused to go to the beach until I was nine.”

Luke huffed a laugh and shrugged. “You get used to it, I guess.”

“I don't know.” She wrinkled her nose. “It makes my skin crawl, it feels like when people scrape their cutlery together.”

Han laughed, and Leia glared, but Luke couldn't stop thinking about it.

He _did_ get used to it, but when sand crept into his boots in the middle of chores and he couldn't take them off without getting even more sand in them, that was exactly what it felt like.

 

Mos Eisley and Tosche station were always busy and loud, smugglers and traders and locals on leave all shouting over each other and the sounds of welding and ships’ engines, but being on base was more of a shock to his system than he could have expected.

It was a relief that first night, when Han had left the ceremony early and given him an excuse to leave, his head heavy and buzzing with the hundreds of voices around him that he couldn't block out.

He didn't know how everyone else managed, but they did; he didn't say anything about it.

He hadn't gotten in early enough to beat the rush to the dining hall that morning, crammed at the end of a table with Han at his side and Leia sitting across from them. He nodded along while they spoke, impossible to process over all the noise, but he thought he was doing fine until he flinched from Han lightly bumping his shoulder against Luke’s.

“Kid.”

Luke nodded and pressed the heel of his palm against his forehead.

“Is that a yes?”

“What?”

He looked up just in time to see Han and Leia exchange glances, Leia looking more concerned than the confused look on Han’s face.

“Are you okay?” Han asked quietly, leaning in so Luke could hear him over everyone else in the room.

Luke nodded again.

“Look at me a second,” Leia said.

He looked up, trying not to squint; the light bounced off her hair in a halo, rings around the lights on the ceiling before he looked back down at his plate.

Leia put down her spoon and leaned back slightly. “Do you get migraines?”

“I don't--I don't know,” Luke mumbled, rubbing his knuckles over his eyes. “It's fine.”

“You don't look very fine,” Leia said. She slid out of her seat and came around to Luke, holding a hand out towards him before pulling it back. “Get up, let’s go somewhere else.”

Luke hesitated for a second, insistence that it was fine and she didn't have to do this on the tip of his tongue, but the words weren't coming, and he stood up.

Leia tugged at the hem of his sleeve, leading him towards the door before she looked over her shoulder to tell Han, “Can you get those?”

Luke didn't realize Han was following them until they got outside, Leia leading him out of the way of the doors to sit down on a boulder a little ways off.

Luke leaned his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands, breathing deep now it didn't feel like he was being crushed under all the noise.

He heard Han and Leia talking a couple feet from him, their voices like bubbles that he couldn't quite make out.

He hadn't thought of Leia's voice as having a color before.

Han’s was tawny and warm.

“Hey,” Leia said, blue and rough-edged. “Luke.”

Luke took a deep breath and sat up straight, rubbing the blur from his eyes; his head still ached, dull and scratchy in his skull, but it didn't feel like pinpricks on his skin anymore, no rings around the light shining through the trees.

“Are you alright?”

Luke nodded and bit the inside of his cheek; without the suffocating feeling of being inside, it just felt silly, embarrassment tight in his chest.

“Yeah, I'm--I'm sorry, I don't know what--”

“Are you feeling better now?” Leia cut him off.

Luke nodded again.

“You might have just been overloaded,” she said. “Migraines usually last longer.”

Luke was about to ask what she meant when she pinched her thumb and her forefinger together by her ears, pulling out what looked like holopad headphones without the wire, painted on the outside to match her skin tone. He hadn't even seen them earlier.

“What are those?”

“You don't want these ones, I've been using them for ages,” she said, patting herself down before remembering the small pocket on her sleeve and pulling out another set. “They filter out background noise.”

Han leaned over to get a closer look while Luke rolled them over in his palm.

“Those are pretty nifty,” he mumbled.

“You just flip those,” Leia said, pointing out a switch on the side.

Luke didn't realize she was waiting for him to try them until she gestured between his hand and his ear, looking at him expectantly.

“Oh,” Luke said to himself, pressing them into his ears and flipping both switches.

Almost instantly the birds and the bugs went silent, the sounds from other rebels filing in and out of the dining hall a few feet away muffled to an ignorable almost-silence.

“Wow.”

“How's that sound?” Leia asked, her voice dull, almost like he was hearing her through water, but clear and easy to focus on without any of the background noise.

“That's amazing,” Luke said, laughing to himself at the way he sounded through the earbuds.

There was an itch behind his eyes when he pulled them out without turning them off first, the uneven sound before he’d gotten the second one out throwing him off balance.

“Yeah, don't--don't do that,” Leia said, stifling a laugh when Luke rubbed at his forehead. “It feels weird taking them out when they're still on.”

Luke held his hand out towards her, but Leia pushed it back.

“I have another backup pair, keep those.”

Luke didn't get so overwhelmed in the dining hall after that.

 

Han froze in the doorway to his bunk on the Falcon, staring down at Luke lying stretched out on the floor, wearing what had to be three different coats to look as puffed up as he did.

“Are you…?”

Luke nodded with a contented hum.

“Then why are you on the floor?”

Luke shrugged, and then a couple seconds later, “Would you lie on top of me?”

Han was still staring at him when Luke looked up from the floor.

“Please?”

“This isn't some kinda joke, is it?” Han asked, stepping into the room.

Luke shook his head. “These are just really hot.”

“‘Cause that explains everything.”

“They're _heavy,_ it's _nice_ but--”

Han hauled him up by the front of his coat until Luke scrambled upright, his cheeks pink from starting to overheat.

“There's a bed right there,” Han said, pulling the coats off of him before pushing him flat. “No need to be on the floor.”

Luke grinned and tugged Han down with him, kissing along Han’s face wherever he could reach until Han settled down on top of him, nuzzling into the crook of Luke's neck.

“Thank you,” he mumbled into Han’s hair.

“You know you can just weigh down your pockets for this,” Han said, kissing Luke's neck. “Don't have to go around looking like a marshmallow.”

Luke hadn't thought of that before.

He couldn't help wondering why Han had.

 

He didn't find out for almost two years.

There were more moments, things he had chalked up to just being weird or something to do with the Force until Leia or Han mentioned the same thing, another pilot on base wearing her shirts inside out under her jumpsuit until Luke taught her how to do flat hems, a mechanic who talked as much as he did once they got going, stumbling over their words when their brain went too fast for their mouth.

Scars itched; he was no stranger to that, but he'd never had scars so widespread, jagged lines running along his back and his chest, down his arms and shooting down his ribcage almost to his left knee.

The other scars on his chest had been annoying, twinging if he moved his arms too widely, but that had faded, and a few inches on each side felt like nothing after the stiff tightness of the scars from the Force lightning, impossible to ignore without keeping perfectly still.

He was offered painkillers when he couldn't focus through the feeling of all those lines on his skin, but it didn't _hurt,_ he kept trying to explain, he just needed…

He always trailed off at that point, before he eventually gave up; he wasn't sure what he was looking for.

Leia had tracked down some sort of cream that was supposed to help, but it made his hands feel slick and greasy, and it wasn't until Han found the barely-used tub of it that he gave it another try.

“I’ll do it,” Han had said, and Luke had almost said no, still uncomfortable about anyone seeing the scars, even though he knew Han already had; but the skin on his shoulder felt stiff when he shrugged, and he relented with a stifled wince.

The scars along his chest and his arms were more concentrated than the rest, and it only took a few minutes of Han smearing the cream around with his whole palm before Luke was covered in it.

Luke had to try to keep his breathing steady when Han dipped his fingertips into the jar again, lightly running over the lines creeping up towards his collar, down again over his chest.

Han rushed out and back in a few seconds later with a towel, tossing it over the bed.

“Lie down--pants off,” he added when Luke moved towards the bed. “I know that one on your leg’s been bothering you.”

Luke didn't know why that made him smile.

He didn't like still being embarrassed getting undressed in front of Han, when he'd seen Luke naked countless times before; he knew he didn't need to be, with the way Han kissed along his scars almost reverently once Luke finally let him, but it still just felt like a reminder of things he’d rather not think about in bed, an incessant worry that it was reminding Han, too.

He lay flat on his front, leaning his head on his forearms; he tried to look towards the wall, but the scars near his neck felt tighter, and he had to turn his head again towards Han.

He pulled in a quick breath when he felt Han’s fingers along his back, tracing directly over the scars instead of smearing the cream all over like he had on Luke's chest. Han started up towards his neck, over the lines that almost peeked out above his collar if he wasn't careful; Luke shivered when Han dipped his finger in the cream again to trail down his spine, slowly warming up against his skin as Han traced along the jagged line going down the left side of his back.

His left shoulder was covered in a tangle of scars, like a huge spark burned into his skin that he’d only really seen once, craning his neck to look at it in the smudged mirror in the bathroom, leaving his stomach in knots. It always felt stiff there, and Luke didn't manage to stifle a groan when Han roughly rubbed his thumb over the center of the spark, rolling out the tightness in his muscles.

Han’s hand went still for a second.

“Is that okay?”

Luke nodded with a contented hum, letting out a deep sigh when Han started rubbing at his shoulder with the heel of his palm.

“Like you got a rock in there or something,” Han mumbled, rubbing over the tightest spot with his free hand while he traced the cream over the rest of the lines fanning out from Luke's shoulder.

Luke arched against the bed with a shudder when Han trailed down the other side of his spine, especially ticklish with the slick cream on his fingertips. Han leaned over to kiss the back of Luke's head while he traced lower, rubbing the cream into his skin over the lines across his lower back.

Luke opened one eye a crack when Han stopped, looking over Luke for a second before nudging his knuckles against Luke's hip.

“On your side now?”

Luke rolled onto his right side and cushioned his head on his arm. Han smeared the rest of the cream still on his hand onto Luke's shoulder, looking over Luke's side like he was studying the lines before he tentatively started to trace down Luke's ribs.

“Sorry,” he said quietly when Luke flinched, cold and ticklish again. He pressed with his whole palm then, firm and steady to keep from being an uncomfortably light touch against Luke's skin.

Han had the same look on his face Luke had only really seen while he was doing repairs, or trying to coax the Falcon into something it didn't want to do; there was that faint crease between his eyebrows, chewing at his lip while he put all his focus into carefully tracing the cream along the jagged scar down Luke's ribcage.

He had to dip his fingers into the cream again, rolling it between his fingertips to warm it up before tracing down from Luke's hip to his thigh.

Han took his time there, slowly running his thumb over each jagged edge sparking almost down to Luke's knee. Luke's breath hitched when Han had to trace over the soft skin towards his inner thigh, sensitive and still speckled with fading pink spots Han had left a few nights before.

Han leaned in to press a kiss to his knee, carefully avoiding getting any of the cream on his mouth before he straightened up again.

“I think that's all of it.”

Luke was about to sit up, but Han nudged him back down before he could get very far.

“Gotta wait for that stuff to sink in,” he said, sitting down on the floor by the bed. He paused for a second, and then, “Is _that_ why your laundry looked so gross last week?”

“I had things to do,” Luke grumbled, reaching over the side of the bed until Han took his hand. “Thank you.”

Han kissed his knuckles and leaned his head on the thin mattress, close enough for Luke to shuffle forward and kiss his nose. “Don't mention it.”

 

It was a few days later when Luke was keeping Leia company in a rare few minutes of down time, sucking the last dregs of her juice through a straw when he finally couldn't stop himself from asking, “Why did you have those earbuds?”

Leia raised an eyebrow, pushing the ice around the bottom of her cup. “What are you talking about?”

“The noise-canceling ones,” he clarified. It was only towards the front of his mind because of a briefing the day before, when he’d had to switch them on to cover the pilots and other rebels arguing around them while he and Leia and Han had to plan.

He'd been wondering since she first gave them to him, all that time ago, wondering why she could tell it wasn't a migraine, what she meant when she said he was just overloaded. He hadn't even really known what he was asking about until it sank in over the years that most other people _didn't_ need them, they weren't just managing where he couldn't for some inexplicable reason. He wondered about that pilot who needed the flat hems like he did, Han’s tip to weigh down his pockets; it was a realization that started slow in the back of his mind before going very fast, eventually bringing him to the conclusion that it wasn't either perfectly normal _or_ just him.

Most other people didn't need to wear their clothes inside out, or block out background noise he couldn't filter, or any of the other things he’d taught himself to ignore as _just a little weird,_ but the more people he met the clearer it became that he wasn't the only one.

“It's a sensory processing thing,” she said, and when Luke just looked blankly at her, she added, “Some people are more sensitive to, like, light and sound and touch and all that. Or less, but--I thought you would have--?”

Luke shrugged.

“Oh.” Leia put her cup down and scratched her chin, her eyes narrowed slightly. “Humans have some different neurotypes--how your brain is set up, I guess--one of them comes with things like that.” She paused, absently knocking the cup around between her hands. “I couldn't get screened officially, it wouldn't _look good_ for a _diplomat,”_ she said, her tone sarcastic and mocking. “My mother guessed it, though, she got me those earbuds.”

Luke nodded slowly; he wasn't sure what to make of that, struggling to shift from the assumption that it was something to do with the Force, if anything, to the idea that it could just be his brain.

“I thought it was just…” He gestured uselessly in front of himself before dropping his hands to his lap with a huff. “I thought it was to do with being Force sensitive.”

“I mean,” Leia said with a shrug, “that could have something to do with it, I don't know, but it’s not just that.”

Luke nodded again and leaned his chin on his hand. “Could you still get screened for it?”

“I _could,”_ Leia said, “but I already know what it is. Seems like a waste of time.” She looked up, hurriedly adding at the way Luke's face fell, “You could, though, if you want. I just don't.”

Luke hummed, quiet for a few seconds before he finally asked, “When did you figure it out?”

Leia shrugged again. “My mother started looking into it after I tore up a dress they wouldn't let me wear inside out. I think I was five, maybe?”

“Me too!” Luke said a little too enthusiastically, clearing his throat. “I mean. I did the same thing. Except the tearing up part.”

Leia laughed--a real laugh, not like she was trying to cover something, her eyes crinkled at the corners, and Luke couldn't help grinning along with her.

Leia shook her cup around, sucking up what was left from the ice melting; he mulled over what she had just told him for a minute, picking at a loose thread on his pants before he looked back up at her.

“Do you think Han might--?”

“Don't see why not,” she said, scooping out a couple ice cubes to chew on. “What makes you think…?”

Luke shrugged. “A couple little things. I don't know.” He paused, biting the inside of his cheek, and then, “Could you tell me more?”

Leia looked almost surprised for a second before she nodded, smiling warm and open. “Ask away.”

**Author's Note:**

> ftr this is mostly based around my own experiences as an autistic person plus lil luke things in canon that were like Oh Mood and bc there isnt a lot of autistic luke Content out there and i was bored  
> anyway im @ hansolosbi dot tumblr !


End file.
